Chapter 22 – The End of Innocence
Two days had passed since their flight from the grotto, and Luke was exhausted. His shoulders were aching from constantly having to carry the Noghri's ailing body and at the same time lending him some of his strength so Chi'in would survive. Nuron in turn seemed bright and alert, no matter what hour of the day, no matter how close the aliens chasing them came to discovering their prey. It was incredible with what focus and determination the young Zabrak was performing as his guardian and guide. But Luke himself did not stay idle. He had been in constant contact with the Mahsenda, who were spying on the giant war coordinator – the yammosk, Chi'in had called it in a waking moment – and the activities of the warriors chasing them. The Mahsenda's perception went beyond anything the young Jedi would have expected in a semi-sentient creature. They could even determine the position of the starships in orbit around Kynda'bey.
Luke found solace in communicating with the great predators and let their minds shield his against the assaults of the yammosk. Nuron had already commented that they might experience troubles when trying to take off, since the giant creature emitted something of a force-field, that might disrupt their ships' electronics. But Luke had dismissed her concern, telling her that they could rely on the Mahsenda to find a safe route for them. As expected, she was not convinced.
But now they were so close to the coast and the cave where they had left their ships, that a rare smile appeared on her features when she looked over at him. "How is he?" she asked softly and nodded toward Chi'in.
"Unconscious," Luke replied tiredly. "He has lost too much blood and I cannot really heal him. But he's holding on." He wished he could do more for his friend, and the memory of another friend's dying was haunting him. Kit Nesha had died in the battle for Chandrila, aboard a rebel cruiser, just before Luke himself had been captured by the Grand Admiral's troops. Back then the young Jedi had clumsily tried to heal the older man and had failed utterly. Kit had passed away in his arms, with a smile on his face. But Luke had the feeling that, if Chi'in ever woke from his healing trance again, his black eyes would be full of disappointment and disapproval.
Nuron loped ahead, picking her way down the narrow track that would lead them to the cave they had refashioned as ship hangar. Briefly Luke wondered whether Al'than'erudo had escaped and Ech'an'dana's fleet might appear to rescue them in the last moment. But he knew that he could not rely on wishful thinking. Following Nuron he entered the cave and heaved a relieved sigh when he found the ships there and apparently intact.
"Hurry, now," the Zabrak admonished him. "Chi'in is small enough to fit into the back of the cockpit. He will need to be stabilized. I have a spare breathing mask and a thermo blanket. I will carry him in my ship, so you can concentrate on getting us out of here."
Luke stared at her as she went about to prepare her ship for the task. But then pride broke through the initial surprise, pride at her competence and resolve. Walking over to the scoutships he helped Nuron wrap the Noghri into the thermo blanket and fix the breathing mask over his face. His hands touched hers briefly, and she gave him a warm smile that lit up his very soul. She bent toward him and placed a kiss on his lips before she hoisted herself up and dropped into the pilot's seat. "Let's go."
Twenty minutes later they were driving hard for open space. The siren song of the Mahsenda was slowly fading away, and a flight of alien ships was in hot pursuit of the fleeing scoutcraft. But with the Mahsenda's touch fading the assaults of the yammosk were growing stronger too. Luke was gritting his teeth in a dire effort to keep his wits about him, but sweat was pouring down his forehead steadily. He hoped that Nuron and Chi'in were doing well, but he could not spare an ounce of strength to check on either. Suddenly the black sky in front of him lit up with a golden sheen as a plasma bolt raced past him, missing his ship just barely.
To Luke's surprise the shot was answered immediately from up front and then he drew his ship into a wild evasive maneuver to avoid crashing headlong into a large star cruiser. He had been concentrating on the yammosk so deeply that he had not even sensed the ship ahead. He really needed to work on expanding his sphere of awareness. But right now he just had to survive. Luckily the newcomers were more interested in picking off their pursuers than paying any heed to the Jedi and the Sith.
"My shields are gone!" came a sudden cry from his companion. Almost instantly Nuron's ship dove underneath his, using his craft as cover.
Close to despairing Luke thought hard on what to do. With her shields out of commission she could never make the jump to hyperspace safely. "Stay with me!" he yelled. "Whatever I do you copy!"
"Affirmative!"
Coaxing his ship up to more speed he dove for Laa'kuan. They could make it, he knew. If the cruiser continued its assault on the forces assembled at Kynda'bey they might provide distraction enough to let Luke and Nuron escape to the moon.
"They are following us!"
A look at his radar confirmed the startled shout. The cruiser was indeed picking up speed and coming after them. And behind came even more enemy fighters. "Almost there!" Luke shouted back and tried to get his ship to fly faster. A sudden shriek ripped through his head and then he saw Nuron's scoutcraft tumble out of control. Immediately he changed course and dove after her. The two ships entered the moon's atmosphere just moments after one another and then Nuron's craft was plummeting toward the surface like a stone.
Frantic, Luke tried to focus. The solution came to him all of a sudden and he reached out gently to nudge the plunging ship into a more stable descent. Then he started to slow its fall. It sailed over a wide plain and sat down in a cloud of dust and dry grass, burrowing into the arid soil until it finally came to rest against some obstacle Luke could not see. He settled his ship down beside Nuron's and popped the cockpit hatch open hurriedly. The dry air ground into his lungs harshly. Coughing, he jumped to the ground and cursed aloud when he got dust in his eyes. His ears filled with a loud roar and when he had blinked his eyes clear once more he found five star fighters that had settled around the two Chiss scoutcraft. Black, just as the cruiser, they glistened in the weak sunlight like the armored plates of Tatooine sand bugs.
Ignoring them for the moment the Jedi hurried over toward Nuron's ship. The hatch stood open and he jumped up to balance precariously on the ship's nose to find the Zabrak gently trying to free Chi'in from his place in the back of the cockpit. When she turned her head to face him there were tears in her eyes.
"I think he didn't make it," she whispered, her voice choked with grief.
Luke shook his head. "Nonsense. He can't be dead now." The Noghri came awake with a loud cough. "See?"
Chi'in opened his eyes and closed them again instantly. The light wasn't harsh, but it was brighter than he could deal with right now. So, secured in a dark little world, he listened to Luke and Nuron bicker and fuss over him contentedly. He was happy that they were safe and had managed to escape. Perhaps. He felt too weary to sit upright, so he let himself be lifted from the confines of the ship.
"Chi'in," Nuron said softly. "Wake up. We need you." The Noghri smiled weakly. "We really need you. I mean it," she continued more urgently. With a small groan he fought his way back into consciusness once more. The Zabrak's golden eyes held relief and joy and Luke, peering over her shoulder down at the Noghri, wore a wide grin on his face. And then Chi'in saw the others.
They were lanky and tall, their forms seemingly covered with short, chestnut fur, and they wore a sort of primitive flight suit. Bony headcrests potruded from the sides of their skulls like wings, and their long snouts made them look somewhat ridiculous. Their cobalt blue eyes were gazing at the trio expectantly, and the strange blasters they held in their three-fingered hands were aimed loosely at the trio of warriors.
"Can you understand what they are saying?" Luke stage-whispered and hooked a thumb in the direction of the aliens.
"Help me sit up," Chi'in breathed and the arid air stabbed through his lungs mercilessly. Very carefully Nuron propped him upright, her arms supporting him gently. Luke turned toward the aliens and indicated the Noghri with a hand, as if introducing him to the rest. Chi'in could sense that the boy was indeed using his mind to suggest that Chi'in was the one who might be able to translate between the two groups and that they harbored no ill intent toward the aliens.
One of them gave a honking noise and immediately started talking to the one standing next to it. The other listened patiently, then hurried toward its ship and took off again. The apparent leader of the group then turned back to face the trio and slowly bent down to lay the blaster on the ground. Empty-handed it approached them cautiously. Luke moved out of its way politely and it paid him no more heed then.
Dropping to its knees in front of Chi'in, it reached out to touch the bandage over his wound. It said something, a mixture of hoots and belches. Chi'in understood that it was concerned, that it had asked how he had received the wound. It clearly wanted to help. It was then, seeing the alien up close, that the Noghri noticed the subtle differences in its clothing, that set it off from the others. The edges of its cobalt eyes were painted a dark brown and the lines of paint winged out to form an intricate pattern over its headcrest. And it wore a small stone on a leather throng around its long neck. The stone was glimmering with a faint yellow sheen and Chi'in stared at it in fascination, wondering where he had seen one of those before.
The being gazed at him for a long time, then looked over its shoulder and started jabbering at its companions. They hastened to comply and started building a shelter out of leather hides and steel rods taken from their ships. In almost no time it was finished, a small, rounded dome that offered protection against the dust. The leader of the group beckoned for Nuron to carry the Noghri into the makeshift hut.
Carefully balancing him in her arms the Zabrak gave him an encouraging smile. "Seems as if they want to help," she murmured under her breath.
"Perhaps that's just their way of preparing dinner," Luke commented drily, and Chi'in almost laughed.
Then they were inside. The alien shooed Luke and Nuron from the confines of the hut after they had settled the injured Noghri on some furry skins on the ground. It turned toward him and again dropped down to its knees. The three fingers of its right hand gently probed at the edges of the wound before it removed the bandage. A low hiss escaped its snout and it honked mournfully. After a moment of hesitation it started unpacking something from its flightsuit. Vials, small leather sacks. Medicine of some sort, Chi'in guessed.
The darkness of the hut was soothing and when the being started a low chant the Noghri relaxed some more. Humming to itself the alien half-closed its cobalt eyes. Then it unfastened the leather throng from around its neck and let the glowing stone swing above the injured warrior's torso like a pendulum. Seeing that light above his head he finally remembered where he had seen something like this before. The ceiling of the yammosk's grotto had been studded with these stones, or similar ones at least. He raised a hand slowly, fighting down the pain.
"What is this?" he asked breathlessly. A proud smile appeared on the alien's face. It garbled something, then pointed first at the stone, then at its chest. "Your home star?" the Noghri ventured softly. It seemed to pick up on the meaning of his words, for it nodded vigorously.
Suddenly a clamor rose outside, and Chi'in could hear Luke and Nuron shout angrily. Concerned, the Sith tried to rise, but the alien pushed him back down gently and rose to open the tent flap. Outside two of its companions had moved to block Luke and Nuron from coming closer. Two others were striding toward the hut's entrance briskly, a familiar figure walking between them. Al'than'erudo. His glowing red eyes seemed more fearsome than before, and his handsome features bore some bruises. In addition to his shackled hands that could only mean one thing: he was a prisoner. No wonder Luke and Nuron were so upset.
Once the trio was inside the hut the aliens' leader let the tent flap fall close again. The two beings who had escorted the Chiss in roughly forced him to his knees. His glowing eyes were fixed on the ground, and his expression was decidedly blank. But the Noghri could sense pride and determination in the commander. The leader said something to the Chiss, unmistakably an order. Looking up, Al'than'erudo met Chi'in's startled glance.
"These are the Star People," he said. "Their leader is Nolyane, the Keeper of the Star, or Star Keeper. I will translate for you."
Yana was seated at the edge of the transmission field, not wanting the Grand Admiral to notice her while she listened to his conversation with Roj Kell. The ancient Sith stood in the middle of the field, his tall figure clad in black, and the faint, mocking smile on his lips that she had come to loath. It always made him appear as if he had seen something the others had not, something unpleasant, probably. But the Grand Admiral was not inclined to play any games.
"Rest assured that you will pay for your part in this invasion," he was just saying, his face a study of icy consternation. "Since you agreed to talk to me I assume you actually have something to say. If all you intend to do is gloat, please say so now and spare us both a useless conversation."
"Gloat? No, surely not," Kell answered calmly. "And since you were the one who initiated this 'conversation' I suggest you pose your questions now and don't waste my time."
Touché. Yana felt a smile creep onto her face. Watching those two square off against one another was certainly inspirational. Thrawn kept silent for a heart-beat, as if waiting for the other to say something else. "Finished? Good. I want information on the invaders. Who are they? Are they the Zush'Jem Master Chi'in spoke about?"
Roj Kell inclined his head gravely. "They call themselves Yuuzhan Vong. A nomadic people, if you will."
"They do not seem to originate from this galaxy –"
"Really?" the Sith interrupted Thrawn instantly. "Have you engaged them yet?"
"Yes, and – "
"In space combat?"
"Yes."
"So no ground battles yet. I see. They originate from this galaxy, Grand Admiral. You will find that they have developed most effective strategies and tactics against our standard defenses. So far they have never met an enemy they could not defeat."
"Their secret?"
"A creature. They call it yammosk, war coordinator. That's what it does. Coordinate their troops to achieve greater eficiency."
"It is said that Palpatine used to deploy much the same technique, sometimes."
"True. But the yammosk is something different. Very powerful, if fully grown."
"You have met them?" the Grand Admiral asked briskly.
"I have studied them, yes. They are heretics, all of them."
"What does that have to do with anything? And in what regard should they follow heresy?"
The ancient Sith smiled politely. "Forgive me for a poor choice of words. They are fake, contradictory and fervent. In short, they are what I would sum up as fools."
"Powerful ones, as you have just admitted," Thrawn replied, an amused glint in his eyes.
"Fervent belief is the worst state of mind. The most dangerous. People who are desperate always have hope to cling to. Fervent believers have nothing but their faith. The faith of the Yuuzhan Vong is fake."
"Is that so? A matter of perspective, I assume. But how can we defeat them? Perhaps we could talk of strategy instead of holding a theological debate?"
"The Yuuzhan Vong believe in warfare. So you had better be prepared to enter a discussion on theology."
Again Thrawn hesitated. Then he gave a nod. "Go ahead, please."
"According to the Yuuzhan Vong the god Yun-Yuuzhan sacrificed parts of himself to create the world. Therefore bodily sacrifice is viewed as path to approaching the gods. Different sects existent, each worshipping one of their gods. Priests and warriors alike try to gain as much of a likeness to their respective gods as possible. Call it vanity, for it has become nothing else than that. The higher the rank, the greater the sacrifice required. The major gods apart from Yun-Yuuzhan are Yun-Yammka, the slayer, god of war, and Yun-Harla, the trickster goddess. It is said that the gods first created another being as their heir, but a Yuuzhan Vong warrior slayed the beast and was elevated in its place." For some reason the ancient Sith gave a mirthless smile at that. "Natural selection, you see?"
"Yes, I do. Battle and trickery? This does sound a bit mundane."
"It is. But their religion has been surrounded with so much pomp and procedure over the centuries that the mundanity of the entire thing is hardly apparent to the masses. Another thing. The Yuuzhan Vong despise anything purely technological. Machines are abominations in their eyes."
"Any reason why?"
"To my knowledge they view replacing living creatures for machines as sacrilege." Again a smile, and those pale eyes held a distant fire Yana could not quite understand. The Grand Admiral seemed to ignore it.
"Their presence seems to elude Force-users," Thrawn mused aloud. "Do you know how that can be possible?"
"Yes."
The Chiss gazed at his counterpart expectantly, but Roj Kell did not seem inclined to say any more on that matter. Yana, who had been hanging from her seat by now, following the conversation in utter fascination, felt her shoulders sag in disappointment. Why was the old man always so keen on keeping secrets? It was frustrating.
Lips twitching in disdain Thrawn seemed to share her sentiments. But he did not let his impatience show. Instead he continued casually: "What about your reasons for inviting those beings back into our galaxy? And why send them against the Chiss?"
"To complete the circle of life. They had no choice but to return here. Better now than later."
"What do you mean, they had no choice?"
"Because, Grand Admiral, a race that has no territory of its own will perish sooner or later. Do not worry, though. I have the greatest faith in you and your allies."
Thrawn bared his teeth in a mock-smile. "That is so reassuring, Lord Kell."
"Isn't it, though?" the ancient Sith replied, a satisfied expression on his lined face as he folded his arms across his chest.
"You didn't tell him everything," Belana accused him as they made their way back to his quarters. Looking at her in startled bewilderment he shook his head.
"Of course not! That is not for him to know."
"But what you told him won't help him much," she reasoned calmly.
"It wasn't meant to," Kell snapped impatiently. "If I had wanted to help them I never would have let the Yuuzhan Vong get past Kynda'bey."
"But you did. Why?"
He smiled to himself. "A trap. They won't realize it, and neither will Thrawn. But then, sometimes it is better to let people believe in destiny."
Belana pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Then you are finished playing around? Is that it?"
"Yes." Heaving a sigh he seemed to relax somewhat, and Belana could almost see how he was changing, now that the weight of responsibility had been taken from his shoulders. "My journey is over," he continued softly. Stopping short he turned to look out of one of the many viewports that dotted the giant hallway, a gesture Belana recognized from his days of captivity in the Jedi Temple over two thousand years ago. The same longing was apparent in his features, the same calm contentment and quiet power.
She walked up to him slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder, as she had done a hundred times before. "So what happens now?"
His pale eyes did not seem to want to meet her gaze. "I am free now," he explained. "Free to do what I want, to make my own choices. There is no duty any more. No anger, no fear, no death, no rules. None at all."
"The way you say it ..." her voice trailed off into uncertainty. An old pain was returning to her soul, the fear of losing him. Now that his Jer'fra was done, she would no longer be his guardian. "What about your successor? Will you leave him in the dark, too?"
He gave a low chuckle. "That would be something! No, of course not," he added, a bit calmer.
Belana wanted to laugh with him, at his impish smile, the merry twinkle in his eyes, but all of a sudden the weightless light of the Force seemed to turn to molten lead around her. Gasping in shock, she involuntarily dug her fingers harder into Kell's shoulder. He did not seem to notice. His pale eyes narrowed into cold slits and his voice was a mere hiss, full of hatred and anger, when he said a single word:
"Irek."
Abla was running ahead of the Royal Guardsmen to intercept Yana, before Sarreti could get to her. Out of breath he skidded around a corner and almost broke into relieved tears when he found her alone.
"Yana!"
Looking up from her reading she gave him a warm smile. "My love, you are early."
"Irek is coming here!" he pressed on as he joined her. "You must see him now!"
"What? Why?" she asked, startled.
"Because if you do not get to him first Kell will kill him."
"What!" she exclaimed, suddenly outraged. Rising from her seat abruptly, the Empress frowned. "I had ordered him to keep in the background, until we could be certain whether Irek could still be redeemed or not. How dare he!" Without paying any heed to her lover she started for the door, where her escort was just arriving. "Irek Ismaren is supposedly inside the complex," she declared haughtily. "You will locate him and lead me to him."
"Your Majesty," the lead guardsman tried, "Counselor Sarreti gave us strict orders – "
"You will obey!" the Empress retorted.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the man explained hastily.
A few moments of quiet conversation between the guardsmen followed, then the leader nodded toward Yana and turned into a side corridor that led toward the throne room. Following him, the Empress and her consort were immediately surrounded by the rest of the guards. They reached the throne room just moments before Irek arrived and Yana waved the guards away with an elegant twist of her hand.
Irek stood in the giant doorway, his gaunt face and feverish gaze indicating that he had not fared well since his flight from the Executor. Abla discreetly scanned his wiry body for visible injuries, recalling Solo's report from the happenings at Nar Shadaa. But Irek held himself proudly. Yet when Yana elegantly rose from her throne and glided across the floor to meet him, Abla thought he saw the boy's lips quiver with emotion.
"Welcome, Irek," the Empress said softly, her voice warm and full of fondness. She carefully lay her arms around Irek's shoulders and hugged him close. "Welcome home, brother," she whispered.
Abla felt the sincerity of her words clearly, was moved by her great, noble gesture, but then he noticed a shadow moving along the hallway, toward the throne room. Roj Kell did not enter, though. Instead he stood very still, watching. When Yana disengaged from her brother again Irek's eyes were filled with tears. Yet he was trying hard to convey an air of haughty indifference.
"Thank you," he replied hoarsely, but then his voice hardened again. "I have come to claim what is mine. Mine alone. For being my sister, and for having proven your loyalty to me, Yana, you shall live."
His preposterous arrogance enraged Abla no end, but he remained mute, even though he was itching to leave his place standing next to the throne. The Empress gazed at the boy in silence for what seemed an eternity. In the end she took a step aside, her left arm extended toward the throne.
"I will not stand in your way, Irek," she explained quietly.
Her brother stared at the throne, seemingly taking no notice of Abla at all, and licked his lips nervously. His blue eyes widened and his face turned even paler. And then Abla understood what Yana was doing. In offering the boy what he thought was his destiny she showed him that he had been mistaken. This was not what he had been trained for. He was no leader. And he was smart enough to realize that he would never be a ruler either. Abla saw Roj Kell's head come up with interest at Yana's move, and he fancied seeing a smile on the ancient Sith Lord's lips. But then this triumphant moment was shattered brutally. Whirling toward the Empress, his face turned into an ugly snarl, Irek thrust out his right hand and a bar of blue light shot out from his palm, hitting Yana square in the chest.
"No!" he screeched. "I will not be used again!"
Yana's body slid to a halt halfway across the floor and Abla rushed over to her with a fearful cry. "Yana!"
But before he could reach her his body was flooded with incredible pain. He hit the floor hard and his eyes turned toward Irek, disbelieving. Blue lightning filled the throne room, and the air stank of burning ozone and charred flesh. A roaring fire of madness burst from the boy's blue eyes as he advanced on the slicer slowly.
"You will not be able to protect her from my wrath," Irek pressed out between gritted teeth, each word sounding forced and distant.
Then, with a loud boom, the double doors to the throne room closed, and Abla lost his consciousness.
Irek was startled by the sudden crash and spun around to face the entrance again. A tall man stood there, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his long, black robes somehow familiar. The piercing gaze in the stranger's pale eyes frightened Irek, and he retreated a step or two when the man started toward him.
"Finally we meet, little one," the stranger said softly, and his voice seemed to fry Irek's brains. It was beautiful, that voice, unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was the sweet chiming of silver bells sailing over the deep hum of the ocean's surf. It was incredible.
Finding his way blocked Irek fumbled along the arms of the throne and dropped into the seat clumsily. "Who are you?" he asked, confused.
"I am your future," the other replied, and a smile appeared on his lips. It was not a nice smile.
Irek frowned. "My future?" he repeated, uncomprehending.
"Exactly."
"Do I know you?"
"I doubt it."
"Then why're you here?" Irek tried, feeling uncomfortable with that stranger so close. There was something eerie about the man's appearance.
"Because I wanted to see for myself what has become of my student's little experiment."
"What experiment?"
"A weapon. Deadly, invincible and, perhaps, indestructible. He was always looking for the ultimate weapon, once he realized that his powers alone would never be enough."
"You are talking about my father," Irek stated, revelation coming suddenly.
"Am I?" the stranger replied innocently.
"Emperor Palpatine was my father," Irek explained, not realizing that the man knew exactly who he was talking about.
"Oh. Yes. I seem to remember now." A low growl rose from the stranger's throat and made Irek jump.
Shifting uneasily in his seat he averted his eyes and saw Yana lying motionless on the floor. Aghast, he jumped up from the throne and hurried toward her. "Yana!" What had happened to her?
"Stay away from her, boy," the stranger hissed, and that menacing sound froze Irek effectively. Risking a glance over his shoulder he saw the man come closer. Irek hunched his shoulders unconsciously, fearing punishment. "You are not worthy of her love. You are not worthy of anything," the other continued icily.
Irek turned to face his adversary. He raised his chin haughtily and he could sense the darkness just within his reach, awaiting his command. "Have a care how you address me. I am the Emperor's son, and his heir."
The white-haired stranger laughed out loud. "Very droll. The weapon wants to be its own master? How endearing."
Irek felt blood shoot up into his face in embarrassment and confusion. "I am no weapon."
"Wrong. You are the result of a genetic experiment, designed to be just that, a weapon. Your creator surely never cared for you to become his heir."
Mouth hanging open the boy tried to gather his wits again. "But that is not true – "
"Most things we do not want to believe turn out to be true," the stranger explained coldly. "I understand your sentiments, in a way. The Emperor used you, your mother, your sister, even me. None of us were given a choice in the matter. Now that he is gone we are free to choose again."
"He used you too?" Irek was even more confused now. "How?"
The stranger now stood directly in front of him and his hand came up to tap the boy's forehead gently. "Your mind. That is mine. Palpatine stole it from me, to gain power over me, to command my knowledge. You have inherited his strength in the Force, and my mind to aid it. You are a unique being, Irek Ismaren."
Eyes widening Irek let out a loud gasp as everything fell into place. Could it be? Hope spread throughout his soul, hope and fervent longing. His voice was no more than a whisper when he asked, eyes cast downward timidly: "Are you my father?"
"No," the stranger replied, very softly, his voice seemingly floating through Irek's mind. "But in a way, even though I very much regret to say it, you are still my child."
Coming to again, Yana bit back a pained cry. A curtain of tears was obscuring her vision and a small sob escaped from between her lips as she remembered what had happened. "Oh, Irek," she breathed, heart-broken. It was too late for her little brother, too late. But then her searching gaze fell on the man lying not far away, his brown eyes staring up at the ceiling in frozen horror. "Abla!" In her hurry to reach him she crawled across the floor, and her hand frantically wandered over his chest and neck, searching for any sign of life. There was nothing.
"He is dead."
The terribly beautiful voice rang like the bells of doom in her head and plunged her into a bottomless pit of despair. Yana felt her throat constrict, choking her, and her heart turned into an icy lump of loss and sorrow. Abla was dead. He was truly gone, as her vision had foretold her, taken away from her by her brother, of all people.
Oh, Irek.
She raised her head slowly, so very slowly, as if the air around her were congealing into lead. Roj Kell was looking down at her calmly, and she saw death in his eyes. Not her death, not Abla's ... Her gaze shifted instantly to the boy standing at his side, blue eyes wide and face drawn with fear and crushing defeat.
She could see the similarities between them clearly now. The height, the lanky frame, the same eyes and hair texture. Yet Irek was so much more innocent than his father, just a child, really. Yana saw the pain of rejection in his eyes, of profound loss. He was like a dark beacon of confusion, hurt and raw power. None of that was apparent on his father's features. As cold as ever the ancient Sith stood next to the boy, ignoring him so pointedly that Yana felt her heart clench in sorrow and sympathy once more. Irek had had no one who really understood what he felt inside, no one who understood what it was like to be raised as a tool, not a living, feeling being. But now he had her...
"Irek," she whispered, and a sad smile found its way onto her lips. With an anguished wail he dropped down to his knees before her and, guided by a desperate need, his shaking hands found hers at last. She squeezed his cold fingers gently, sensing his confusion, the horrible truth that threatened to shatter his mind completely.
"Everything will be all right now," she continued in a hush, "you will see. I forgive you, Irek. Do you hear me?" His blue eyes turned on her with pleading in them, but she could see that he did not truly understand what she was telling him. Drawing herself upright she lay a hand against the side of his face, his cool skin clammy underneath her touch, and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. "I forgive you," she repeated once more, feeling peace spread throughout her own soul, consoling her.
"Too late," Roj Kell snarled viciously and suddenly Irek was torn from her embrace.
"Nooooooooo!" Yana jumped to her feet with a wordless shriek and rushed at the tall Sith Lord, her eyes meeting her brother's terrified gaze. But she knew she would be too late.
Long fingers locked over Irek's jaw with icy precision Kell gave the boy's head a sharp twist. Yana gasped aloud, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in horror. When he let Irek's body slide to the floor casually her resolve was broken completely. Falling to her knees beside him she was crying her heart out. Dead, blue eyes were staring back at her, purveying an accusation, a call for help. Then the doors banged open and Franzis Sarreti stormed toward them without breaking stride. Right on his heels the Royal Guardsmen crowded into the throne room.
"Get out!" she screeched at them and threw a hand out to indicate the door in an imploring gesture. "Get out right now!"
In silence they left again, leaving her alone with Sarreti and Kell. Her mind seemed numb, bereft of emotion, as she mussed Irek's black hair affectionately. Finally, without a word, she rose again and walked over to kneel beside Abla. When she bent forward to press a slow kiss to his lips, that were still parted to form a silent scream, she felt tears fall from her eyes. Gently, she closed his eyelids and smiled warmly down at him. "I love you," she told him softly. When Sarreti offered his hand to help her rise she pushed it away. For a brief moment she stood over her dead love and closed her eyes, only to see her brother there, his young life ended so violently.
Turning away she walked over to the throne and seated herself wordlessly. Her eyes gazed at the two men standing in front of her unseeing, but she did not need to see now. She did not need to feel, she did not need to suffer. "Counselor Sarreti."
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"As of now Lord Kell's service to the Empire is ended."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Your guardsmen have failed to prevent the murder of my brother, Irek Ismaren. I suggest you find new ones. Have the others executed."
This time his answer was longer in coming. "Yes, Your Highness."
"Dismissed, Counselor."
She waited until the door had clicked shut behind him before she focused on the Sith Lord facing her. His pale eyes seemed expectant, yet unafraid. Yana knew perfectly well why she had not ordered Sarreti to have the old man killed on the spot. If she loosened her soldiers on him here he would not hesitate to start a massacre. But she did not intend to let him get away unpunished either.
"Why?" was all she asked.
"Had I let him live you would never have realized that he was the bait your father set out for you. No matter how strong you think you are, Yana, he would have changed you for worse in the end."
She bit back a wail of deprivation and gritted her teeth before answering. "Yet I might have managed to change him for the better instead."
"Not at a time like this. You have to be hard now, to yourself, to your counselors and warriors. Mercy and forgiveness are not feelings you can afford right now. You see, had he stayed by your side you would have had no choice but to use him as a weapon. And in doing so you would have doomed yourself to the Dark Side."
Yana realized the truth of his words with great reluctance. Why did it have to hurt so? "And Abla?"
"He surprised me. I thought you had won him over already."
Her eyebrows rose in fake consternation. "You? Surprised?"
He shrugged. "It happens."
"And now?"
"You choose, Yana. You alone."
She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again she could feel the deadly ice in them herself. "You are not welcome on Byss any longer. The only reason why I do not order your death right now is because I know I would never survive that command. But rest assured that I will get my revenge." She leaned toward him threateningly, her eyes narrowing. "I will never forget this. Neither should you. And now, Lord Kell, get out of my sight."
TBC
Author's Note:
Again, thanks for the praise. Would you believ that I have already written up to Chapter 29? So that's the secret of why I can post so fast. Hehe.